Home Sweet Home
by thenewalchemist
Summary: I soon discovered I wasn't the only one living in my new home. I had no idea I'd be kept company by a confused Italian in this old house. Spamano fic from spain's POV. I don't own Hetalia.
1. Chapter 1

I've always liked old fashioned things. I'm not sure why, they seem to have a certain charm to them. Antiques seem to have stories, unwritten pasts hidden in them. Ah, I sound like a sentimental old man. I get so wrapped up in things that intrigue me, it can be hard to find my way back out. Anyway, that's why I purchased my current home.

Truth be told, it didn't look like much. But I saw the potential. And Dios, it could be beautiful with a few repairs and a couple of fix ups. So I bought it. I really didn't even have to look inside to know I wanted it. My home was going to be beautiful. I could already picture it; the stained glass windows polished and clear once again, the gray-blue exterior repainted with white trimming, new furniture, drapes, carpets, floorboards. It was going to be beautiful.

I started right away, depending on myself to do most of the work. The electricity and plumbing worked just fine, thank god. I started on the outside. First I removed the windows and washed them properly, like they deserved. Next came the roof; retiling is hard work. First, I had to patch up holes, which involved a swollen thumb and other bruised parts. As if getting up there wasn't hard enough!

Painting was fun. I found the perfect color that matched the original that was peeling almost exactly. It's only when I started painting the upper half did I notice the attic. I was sure I hadn't been up there yet. I hadn't even cleaned the circular window with the others. I gently pried it off, coughing from the stirred dust that had made it outside and into my lungs.

As I mentioned before, I often get too involved in things that intrigue me. That attic intrigued me. Without hesitation, I crawled through the window, now stripped of its glass pane. It took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and even longer to the musty air. It felt as though this room had been sealed away for years, even decades. Old, forgotten boxes were everywhere, mine for the investigating. And investigate I did.

It would be easier to list what I didn't find. Old dresses that looked like they came from maybe as early as the twenties. Pictures, books, and sheet music, mostly in what I believed was Italian. An old guitar. Various chests and trunks. A beautiful telephone, decorated with Ivory. In one corner, there was an old suit, complete, even with suspenders and spats! It was the motherload, a treasure trove.

As I trifled through, everything round me just felt…heavier. I figured it must have been the air getting to me and continued. I'm pretty sure I found an old record player. I wonder if I could get it to work…

I was interrupted from my thoughts by the phone ringing. Only it wasn't the phone downstairs, that was oh, I don't know, actually plugged into the wall. And it wasn't the one in my pocket either.

No, it was the old, dusty phone, decorated with ivory in the corner. I stared at it and blinked. I was obviously hearing things, that old thing probably didn't even work anymore. I really should have opened the other window. The musty air is getting to me.

But it didn't stop ringing. The receiver rattled against its holder as the blaring chime cut through the air. My palms felt sweaty and it wasn't from working outside all day. Cautiously stepping forward, I gently placed my hand on the phone, flinching when I first made contact. With one final gulp and prayer, I gently lifted it and brought it to my ear.

"H-Hello?"

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?!"_

I winced when the heavily accented voice blasted into my ear. He sounded angry.

"Ah, who is this?"

"_It doesn't matter; keep your grimy paws off of shit that doesn't belong to you."_

I crinkled my nose in confusion and glanced around. "Is all of this yours?" I asked quietly. "Wait, how do you know what I'm doing, are you watching me?!"

"_Stop touching our stuff!"_

"If this belongs to you, I'd be happy to move it out so you can pick it up!" I squeaked looking out the window. Maybe he was standing outside, looking in. But no one was there, no pissed off man glaring at me.

"_Just stay out of the attic."_

It's quiet for a little while. He sounded less mad and more…upset? I can't really put my finger on it, but I know his voice cracked a little through the static. "Why? Are you the previous owner? Unless you come get these things, there's nothing I can do. This is my home now."

More silence. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"_This is not your home."_

The line went dead. I brought the phone down from my ear and stared at it, hand shaking. I had to sit down, I felt so lightheaded. I was hearing things. Yeah, there wasn't some guy watching me, trying to scare me. And I wasn't scared. Phones that don't work ring and function normally all the time.

"My imagination is getting to me," I chuckled, not nervously, of course. No, this was just my mind playing tricks on me. I shook my head and climbed back out the window. Maybe I should avoid the attic for awhile. J-Just to keep my lungs clear.

(-)

I finally finished the exterior. And not to toot my own horn, but it looked fantastic. Just like I envisioned it. After a nice, long, relaxing bath in a beautiful looking clawfoot tub, I decided to tackle the interior. Starting with painting.

I had seen some really nice looking furniture in the attic that would fit in perfectly after a little cleaning. I think I paled a bit at the thought of that place. I-I'll come to that later. I open a light blue paint I picked out and grab the roller.

The phone started ringing. Not the one in my pocket. Not the one in the other room. Without even thinking, I flew up the stairs and ran down the hall, stopping when a cord on the ceiling caught my eye. I yanked it down, and clamored up the creaky stairs it revealed, out of breath by the time I reach the phone. I didn't even hesitate to pick it up.

"Hello?!"

"_If you paint my house that god awful color, I will castrate you."_

He was threatening me now?! "Who are you?! This isn't your house anymore!"

"_Shut up! This will always belong to us! We built it and we made it a home, damn it! Stop fucking with everything!"_

Built it? My throat felt dry when an important fact hit me. "This house was built in 1938."

This house had been built 76 years ago. And this person did not sound like a wrinkling, old man. "Who are you?" I croaked, gripping my forehead.

The line went dead.

(-)

I can't sleep. That's kind of hard to do when some crazy stalker keeps calling you, claiming to own your home and to have built it himself over three quarters of a century ago. His voice rings through my head over and over again. It's spring, but it feels so cold in my room, no matter how many blankets and comforters I stack on top of me.

Groaning out of exhaustion, I threw the covers off of myself and sat up, recoiling when my bare feet hit the cold floor. No matter how much I stretched, my limbs still felt stiff and sore. I decided to grab some water or tea or something that would help me sleep.

The floorboards creaked under my weight as I trudged down the hall. The stairs were especially loud. I'd have to fix those. My own boxes lined the kitchen, waiting to be unpacked and sorted through. Thankfully, I had already unpacked most of my belongings in the 'kitchen box'. Sometimes I do think ahead.

God, why did it have to be so cold? I swore I could see my breath as I sighed. This house just must be extra drafty or something. I poured myself a glass of water and started to head back up when something caught my eye. Or rather, _someone._

He was sitting in the window seat just looking out. "H-How did you get in here?!" I demanded. His head snapped up, and he looked at me, completely stunned. Because being called out on intruding someone else's home is completely out of the ordinary.

I couldn't decide if he paled at the sight of me or was already pale to begin with. "What are you doing here?" I tried again, attempting not to sound too harsh. He looked like he's seen a ghost or something. It was kind of cute, actually.

"A-Antonio?!"

He stood anxiously, still staring at me. "How do you know my name?" I mumbled in amazement or fear, I couldn't tell which. He stepped forward slowly, eyes wide. His clothes looked out dated and old. He looked really tired as a whole. Except for his eyes. They looked like they were on fire, they were so bright.

"How do you know my name?" I repeated as he staggered forward. He frowned and reached out to touch me. I moved back.

"Tonio, it's me. It's me. It's Lovi…" he whimpered, tears pooling in the corners of those gold eye. I felt completely helpless. He gripped my shirt and tried to pull me closer. "You're stuck here too? I-I've been waiting." His awestruck daze turned into a scowl.

"You stupid bastard!" he snapped. I winced and yelped when he balled my crumpled t-shirt in his fist. "You, you left, how could you leave?! Why did you leave?! You let the fucking garden die, idiot! Look at this place!"

His anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "You're home now," he mumbled, hand moving up to touch my cheek. I ripped away from the maniac currently standing in front of me, terrified. Did I really have a stalker? Was he mentally unstable or something?

"You must have the wrong Antonio," I muttered, backing into the front door. "You-you have to leave now. I don't know who you are, and if you go now, I won't even get the police involved."

His face crumpled into disbelief and utter devastation. "Tonio, how could you forget me?! How could you forget us?! What happened to you, that's not like you!" he cried, shaking his head. "I know I forgot a few things after I passed, but not you, never you…"

I froze, heart pounding. "P-Passed?"

The man nodded and started to step forward. "I can help you! We'll remember together! Yeah, everything will go back to the way it was before, just the two of us! God, I've waited over seventy years for this. For you."

"What are you talking about?" I'm dreaming. No, I'm having a nightmare. The man tilted his head and walked up to me, eyes never leaving mine.

"You're dead too, aren't you?"

D-Dead? As in lifeless, no longer breathing, 6 feet under dead? More importantly, dead _too_?!

"It's ok, I know it's weird at first, but you'll get used to it. Damn it, Antonio, why'd you keep me waiting. Damn bastard."

For some reason, I felt the need to flee, but my legs wouldn't move. "Y-You have to go," I ordered shakily. He frowned and crossed his arms. "Antonio, you're being even dumber than usual," he snorted rolling his eyes. His expression softened as he moves to touch me again. His hand rested on my forearm. His fingers were ice cold.

"Antonio, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?!" I snapped, pulling away. "Oh I don't know, some crazy man who somehow knows my name broke into my house and is claiming to be dead!" Without looking at him, I opened the door and pointed outside.

"You're trespassing. You're lucky I don't report you."

I stole a glance at him and immediately regretted. Furious cannot begin to describe his hurt expression. "Did you move on after I died? Pick up everything and leave to go to someone else?!" he growled. "If so tell, me. Don't play dumb."

"I have no idea what you are talking about! Go!"

He glared outside before smirking. "Fine, be that way. You want me to leave? You want me gone?" he grumbled, storming toward the door. I let out a relieved sigh when he finally exited and shut the door, leaning against the hard wood. I closed my eyes and ran my hand through my hair, praying he wouldn't come back.

"Miss me?"

My eyes flew open to find him tapping his foot impatiently in the middle of the foyer. Now I'm definitely having a strange nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands, trying to remember how to breathe. "How did you do that?!" I squeaked, still refusing to look at him. Maybe he'll go away. I'm dead. Ican't leave our house, Tonio," he mumbled back

"Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!" I commanded myself, shaking my head back and forth. My fingers gripped by curls and held them tight, trying to pull myself out of sleep. "You're not sleeping, idiot!" he snapped, stomping over. I felt those two cold hands grip my wrists and attempt to tug them away from my face. But he was pretty weak, leaving his efforts wasted.

"Damn it, Antonio! Why are you doing this? Don't deny it; you're dead, just like me."

His recognition, the fact that he's accepted this so freely stirred something inside of me. I let him pull my hands away. Out of curiosity. "M-Maybe you're dead. B-But I'm not!" I whimpered, watching him carefully.

"Jesus, look what you're making me do," he mumbled, glancing away coyly. When he looked back up, he seemed flustered. I felt like I had seen that look before. "Antonio," he murmured, gently squeezing my wrists. "Antonio, it's alright. We're together again. I know I never said it enough, but I'm so happy to see you. You've turned me into a god damn sap, keeping me waiting all this time."

His hands started shaking, still clinging to me. I could only gape and shudder when his fingers grazed my cheek. "I'm sorry I wasn't sweet or nice to you. I should have been; you deserved better. But you have to remember me. Remember us."

"Th-there's nothing to remember. I-I'm not dead!"

"Yes, you are. But it's ok. You were always there for me. So I'll be here for you through this."

"I'm not dead. I'm not the Antonio you're looking for. I don't know you, we've never met!" I lightly pushed him away and grabbed the door handle. "I m-moved here two days ago! I-I came from outside," I stammered as I opened the door again, flinging myself out. Thank god there weren't any houses nearby because I probably looked crazed.

I ran out to the middle of the road and spun around once. "You can't leave, but I can!" I call back before jogging back in. He looked so disappointed. Like everything had come crashing down around him. Maybe it had. "But, that's-that's not…you're…"

His disappointed look mixed with determination when he turned away.

"You are Antonio. And I'm going to prove it."


	2. Chapter 2

The man stormed past me and dashed up the stairs. At first, I didn't know what to do. He was either actually a dead person living in my home or he was just plain crazy. Or both. What if he really couldn't leave? Deciding I would just figure everything out as I went, I followed him.

He had already made his way up to the attic, and I could hear boxes being moved and things being shuffled, along with curses. Lots and lots of curses.

"God, where the fuck did you put it?! You always fucking cherished it so much, fucking bastard."

I was going to correct him and tell him I didn't put anything anywhere because none of any of the belongings in those boxes were mine. But I decided against it. He probably wouldn't have listened anyway. So instead, I watched over his shoulder uncomfortably as he rummaged through things.

He tossed aside a few books, some random papers until he snapped up from the box and held what looked like some kind of hand bound book victoriously. "Hah, prepare to face the truth, Tonio," he declared smirking. That smirk, that small upward curve of his lip was something I could get used to.

He flipped through before he finally settled on one page and promptly thrust it into my face. "There!" he cheered. "Now you tell me that isn't you!"

I took the book and brought it further away from my face. It was a photo album. I saw him in it, pouting and scowling. It was…cute. I had to bite back a smile at first. But then I saw the man next to him. The album nearly slipped from my fingers when I saw and eerily familiar smile blinding me.

He reached over and carefully took the photo from the book, flipping it over so I could see the back.

_Antonio and Lovino-1936_

"Remember?" the man who I assumed was Lovino questioned. "Back in Italy, you dragged me all the way into town to take that damn picture. You were so dead set on having a picture of us."

I turned it back over, just to make sure I was seeing this correctly. God, it really did look like me. The hair, the eyes, the smile; everything. But it wasn't me. I knew it wasn't me.

"Lovino, right? I'm not the Antonio you're looking for," I muttered, stealing a glance at him. He was scowling. Which I had expected.

"But-"

"It is a coincidence," I interrupted. "Lovino, I have people who know me. They wouldn't be around me if I were dead…I'm sorry."

Lovino frowned and stared at the ground. He looked really conflicted. We stood in silence for a moment while he thought. I could see him run through his thoughts; his eyes told me everything. "But you can see me…" he finally mumbled, shaking his head. I gulped and took a cautious step forward. Who knew what he was capable of.

"Look, I don't know what's happening," I tried to explain. Lovino only glared at me. "You're Antonio," he tried to convince himself. Lovino ran his hands through his hair, growing upset. "You have to be…" he continued, sinking to the ground. I watched helplessly as he kicked a box away and curled into himself. "N-No, I can't take this anymore," he whispered. "Please, you're Antonio!" he begged, voice cracking.

I didn't know what to say. So I settled with shaking my head. Lovino brought his knees to his chest and hid his face. "Damn it! God damn it! Why the fuck is this happening to me?!" he yelled, clinging to himself.

"Lovino," I started. Lovino slowly picked his head up and scowled at me. "Go!" he barked. I flinched and started to back away. "Get the fuck out of here!" he ordered, burying his head once again. I ran down the stairs and into my room without looking back. I tried to sleep, but found it hard to ignore the sobs echoing down the hall.

(-)

The next morning I had almost forgotten what had happened the night before. That is, I had forgotten until I found Lovino sitting in my kitchen the next morning. I almost had a heart attack when I found him. He only rolled his eyes and groaned. "What did you forget me already?" he grumbled, poking at the salt shaker on the table.

I just shook my head and kept my eyes locked on him as I approached the coffee maker. Did you know it's really hard to pour yourself a cup of coffee without looking? I may or may not have burned my hand….

"I'm not going to hurt you," Lovino groaned. I nodded and slowly sat across from him. "So…" I started. How do you have a conversation with a dead person? "So you…you're dead…"

Lovino scowled and leaned forward. "Let's just cut the shit, not-Antonio," he snarled. I didn't really like the nickname he gave me. "I want you out of my house. Gone. Never to return again and shit like that. Capisce?"

I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest. He was a rude little ghost. "I'm sorry Lovino, but I own this house now," I sighed. "No you don't," he snapped back. "Antonio and I own it. And by 'Antonio', I mean not you."

"Look, your Antonio must've sold it awhile ago. Do you know what happened to him?"

Lovino's fists curled into tight balls as he gritted his teeth. "If I knew what happened, you think I'd be stuck in this house alone?" he hissed. I felt kind of bad for bringing that up. He really did seem powerless. But my curiosity got the better of me.

"You keep talking about this Antonio, but I have no idea who he is. Is he a friend? A brother?"

Lovino glanced away and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Well, it was really my seat. "N-No…" he mumbled, becoming flustered, but without a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks. I narrowed my eyes in confusion before letting them go wide.

"Oh," I provided as a response. Lovino nodded weakly. Well now I actually felt really bad for him. _Seventy years._ That's a long time to wait for someone.

"How can you see me?" Lovino continued. I blinked and shrugged. "I'm not sure," I sighed. "Maybe you're like Bruce Willis or something," I added, trying to joke around. Lovino just looked confused. "R-Right…" I mumbled to myself, rubbing the back of my head. "I don't think you've seen that movie. He ends up dead at the end, which was just absolutely…"

Lovino did _not _look impressed. "No please, make jokes about dead guys to the dead guy," he snapped. I shrank back in my seat and tried to find an answer to his original question. "I-I don't know. You're sure no one else has seen you before?" I asked quietly.

"I've been hanging around here and no one's given me a second glance."

I rubbed my forehead, letting this all sink in. "I have a dead person living in my house," I muttered, not quite believing myself.

"Actually, you're living in my house, dumbass."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Alright, fine. I'm living in a dead person's house," I sighed. Lovino smirked and looked me over. "Ok, ground rules," he announced. "Don't touch any of the shit in the attic. Don't try to do anything to change the house without my permission. If you trash my house, I will haunt you for the rest of your life. Are we clear?"

"You're assuming I still want to stay."

Lovino's smirk faded instantly. "What if I don't want to live in a haunted house?" I mumbled, staring at my coffee. When I looked back up, I was not expecting to see Lovino looking hurt. He simply rose and started to walk away. "Fine. What's another seventy years by myself," he muttered. I don't think I was supposed to hear that though.

"Lovi, wait!" I called after him as I stood. When I caught up, he was frozen still. "What did you just call me?" he uttered, turning around. I ran through my words again my head. Did I say something wrong?

"I think I called you Lovi…" I didn't really mean to. It just sort of came to me. But Lovino didn't look like he liked it. "Don't ever call me that again," he muttered bitterly. I frowned and came closer.

"If you want to go, just fucking go!" Lovino snapped before I could speak another word. Then I realized I'm probably the first person he's spoken to in seventy years. I think I'd go mad being stuck in one house with no one to talk to for that long.

"No, I want to stay," I responded firmly. Lovino glared at me for a full minute before turning back around. "Fine," he mumbled, heading back up the stairs. I started to follow him, but stopped when he headed for the attic. "Stay out of my way and don't piss me off," he added, stomping his way down the upstairs hallway. I nodded sheepishly, even though he couldn't see me.

What in God's name have I gotten myself into?

(-)

I really wanted to know more about Lovino. He seemed really interesting. And I mean really, who gets to talk to ghost every day? I'm guessing not many.

But unfortunately, Lovino mostly stayed up in the attic. Or if he did come down, he wouldn't even look at me. I think being around me hurts him. For him, I could only assume seeing me is a constant reminder of who he lost, who he's waiting for. It's very sad, really.

He mostly kept to himself. I didn't think he ate or drank (There was never any food missing from the fridge). But he looks like he wants to. Sometimes, he'll steal glances at me while I eat my dinner, and he thinks I don't see him. But I do. It's really cute, the way he gets flustered. I only wish I could see some color come to his cheeks.

I wondered if he slept. Oh God that would be awful, not being able to sleep or take a siesta. I couldn't imagine being awake for twenty four hours straight.

He started coming down more often, even started talking more as the days went by. He even asked me questions sometimes.

"So bastard," he sighed one day, tossing a tomato up in the air and catching it. I looked up from my newspaper and gave him my full attention. "What exactly do you do…" he started, letting his eyes wander over to me. "Not that I care," he snorted. "I just want to make sure there aren't any psychopaths living in my house."

I chuckled a bit and leaned back in my seat, savoring this moment with Lovino. It was absolutely adorable, the way he'd pretend not to be interested in something. "I'm a doctor," I answered politely. Lovino dropped his tomato.

"You're shitting me," he muttered staring at the ground. I tilted my head, confused. "Do you work at the old hospital, out in the next town over?" he asked quietly. I slowly shook my head.

"No, there's a small clinic about five minutes away where I work. And plus, that one was torn down awhile ago…"

A pained expression graced Lovino's face. "That doesn't make sense, that was the closest one…"

I crinkled my nose as his eyes flicked back and forth. "That one was almost forty five minutes away. Why would anyone have to go that far if they lived around here?"

"There is nothing around here," Lovino countered. "That's why we came out here, to get away where no one would try to hurt us…"

"You mean you and Antonio?"

Lovina clamped his mouth shut and stared at the ground. "Did you run away?" I questioned cautiously. Lovino didn't answer. "Did you two run away together? Because you were both-"

"I will not have your judgment!" Lovino interrupted. His shaky cry rang through the old house. God, poor Lovi…

"I would never," I sighed, slowly approaching the still fuming man. Lovino avoided my gaze and scuffed his heel against the tile floor. "Is that why you're here?" he asked, barely at a whisper. "Do people hate you too?"

My heart ached for this poor man. "No, I came out here because…because I wanted a change in pace. I wanted things to slow down in my life…" Lovino only nodded. "People today…are much more accepting…" I added, hoping maybe that would make him feel a little better. It would be nice to know that others didn't have to suffer as I would, in my opinion.

Again, Lovino only nodded. I glanced at my watch and cursed to myself before grabbing my bag. "I have to go now," I mumbled, trying to remember where I put my coat. I was pretty sure I had hung it up…

"Whatever," he mumbled, already heading back upstairs for the attic. I hoped he didn't just stay cooped up in there all day when I was away. Hopefully, I'd talk to him more when I got home. I think he really started to open up to me. And I want that. We are kind of living together…

"Adios, see you tonight!" I called as I hurried out the door. I really hoped he would talk to me again tonight.


End file.
